Today I am 49 years old. That’s… weird. Not as weird as next year, when I turn 50, but still… pretty weird.

My 48th year felt like I was trying to cross a deep riverbed of slow-moving tar. I was trying to migrate the last of my content (Help Desk) into the new site — it’s not finished yet. I was trying to finish writing Curveball Issue 36 — it’s not finished yet, and it just crested 40,000 words. Ugh. I wrestled with terrible, crippling writer’s block. I paid off some debt, which was nice. There was a pandemic. PERHAPS YOU’VE HEARD OF IT.

All in all it was a frustrating year, creatively. Issue 36 has weighed so heavily on me, cast such a dark shadow over me, that I couldn’t really focus on much else… and I couldn’t really focus on it, either. There’s a lot I could write about creative despair, I suppose, but I won’t. I’ll just say it was brutal.

I say this now because last week I realized that I was about to turn 49 and I tried to finish Issue 36 before I did. I failed in that mission, but my failure resulted in breaking through that damned writer’s block. That’s not a bad way to fail.

Anyway, I’m 49 now. Happy birthday to me!


  1. Years ago we were given a coffee cup with words on it saying (in color
    and well done) “It took me 50 years to look this good!” I love it because we received it a quarter-century ago. Makes me smile.

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